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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800465">It was you, the whole time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowr0se/pseuds/yellowr0se'>yellowr0se</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pearl Jam, Soundgarden (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:29:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowr0se/pseuds/yellowr0se</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Cornell/Stone Gossard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It was you, the whole time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Standing backstage waiting for the encore, heart hammering with nerves, the sweat bathing the back of his neck and making his hair stick to the skin. His ears buzzing with static and adrenaline, his hands fidgeting. Tonight was different, because it all had to be perfect. For Andy. </p>
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>And then, there next to him, was Chris - his shirt off, bunched in his hand, mopping the sweat on his chest. The densely packed muscle of his torso, the light trail of black hair teasing below his pants. Stone tried not to look, but he was so close. And the scent of Chris’ hot skin, the defined dark curls grazing his shoulders and chest - what that did to him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He’d always been good at burying it. There was a time before - maybe ’88 or something - Stone would leave their parties early, the frustration searing through him as he realised he couldn’t stop looking at Chris, hating whatever girl was draped around him, or - and he wasn’t proud - he’d hook up and close his eyes and imagine the soft mouth around his cock belonged to Chris, especially if he really needed to come. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Then Soundgarden started going on tour for longer stretches, and things picked up with Mother Love Bone, and he could forget. Some nights were harder than others, though - the idea of Chris’ skin, and the idea of the taste of his mouth, the idea of the feel of his rough fingertips, keeping him awake, or sending him into fantasies where he could look Chris in the eyes, clear, not afraid, and say:  “I want you. Always have. It was you, the whole time.” </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>But he’d kept going. Burying. He didn’t go looking for Chris in somebody else, some other beautiful guy with smooth pale skin and wild hair. Stone was rational.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>But then, the world turned upside down. And Chris was there. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He called Stone, on the darkest night. Called him over to the house, where they still saw Andy everywhere they looked, and said: “I’ve got these songs. You wanna hear?” </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>They played together for hours and then Chris threw a blanket on the sofa and put an arm around Stone, just briefly. He was warm and safe and alive. “I’m here, OK?”he’d said. And if Stone wanted to break apart, finally, he still didn’t. He just said: “Yeah, me too.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They were all moving on now. Stone had his new band. Chris would be gone on tour again, pretty soon. Tonight was the end of something as much as it was the start of something; Temple wasn’t their big future, they all knew it. So Stone tried to think about Say Hello 2 Heaven. About G and E-minor. About anything except the way the muscles in Chris’ back moved as he pulled his tshirt back on over his head, the outline of his body through the damp fabric. And the wicked gleam of Chris’ eyes when he glanced at Stone, making him look away. “What do I want?” he always asked himself. “Would it be kind of the same as with a girl? Would I know what to do, would he? Would I be so nervous I wouldn’t be able to keep it up, would it be the same as touching my own? Would we be serious? For once? Would it ruin everything?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>And that last one, that was what always kept him from ever getting too drunk around Chris, because he was the one thing Stone couldn’t lose. Chris was the anchor, the thing that kept them all coming back together, kept them young, even years later. Right up until the unimaginable day they lost him.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You OK?”Chris whispered, his attention on Stone, suddenly, as the crowd swelled beyond the curtain. “You look a little-“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, I’m good.” Stone turned away, pretended to fix his guitar. Then Chris was going back on stage, the moment lost. Time to forget.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Now - in dreams - Stone wasn’t afraid, that night. To reach out and breach the gap between them, touch Chris’ bare skin. To look him in the eyes with promise. To get through the night then leave with him, walk all the way back to his house and past the sofa, up the stairs, their faces touching before their mouths did. To feel Chris’ hands on his body, sliding off his shirt and resting over his racing heart, saying in that low voice: “Look at me, Stone”. And feeling so fucking known, when he did. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>That was how he could live with it, after Chris died. The half-remembered shreds: of his scent, his private smiles, the callouses and grazes on his hands, those boys they’d been. And building those shreds into castles where they could both live, if only for the night.</em>
  </p>
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